


Don't Speak Before We Say Too Much

by Lizaster (DingoesAteMyBaby)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DingoesAteMyBaby/pseuds/Lizaster
Summary: When Kent had pictured his rookie year he had dreamed about his team making it to playoffs, of drinking champagne out of a giant silver cup, playing the kind of hockey that always brought him joy, and most of all he had pictured Jack tangled up in in there somewhere...Instead, he’s thousands of miles away from his family, alone in a city so damned different from the East Coast that it feels like another planet, and the love of his life won’t return his phone calls, no matter how many increasingly desperate voicemails he leaves.  It’s almost nothing like he’d hoped it would be. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his soulmate on the ice in the middle of a hockey game.





	1. Chapter 1

When Kent had pictured his rookie year he had dreamed about his team making it to playoffs, of drinking champagne out of a giant silver cup, winning the Calder, and making his Moms proud, and maybe even the Zimmermanns. He’d pictured making friends with his team, playing the kind of hockey that always brought him joy, and most of all he had pictured Jack tangled up in in there somewhere, not on the same team of course, but he thought they’d have long phone calls and he could coax Jack into using social media and maybe they would video chat every once in awhile.  He knows you don’t have to be soulmates to make things work.  Maybe they’d even be drafted into the same conference, facing off against each other every couple of weeks.  

Instead, he’s thousands of miles away from his family, alone in a city so damned different from the East Coast that it feels like another planet, and the love of his life won’t return his phone calls, no matter how many increasingly desperate voicemails he leaves.  It’s almost nothing like he’d hoped it would be.

He brought with him two suitcases and a bag of hockey gear, and moved into a furnished apartment near the practice complex that his Captain recommends to all the rookies.  It only takes him an hour to put his things away, then he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with the need to get on the ice. He calls Gibson, their Captain, since he’s the only one on the team he knows, and begs for ice time. “Sure, give me an hour and I’ll meet you there, ok?”  If he can just get on the ice he thinks he might be ok for a few hours.

He breezes through preseason, as first draft pick there's no question of him making it to a top line, and he's got an endorsement deal before he’s even on the ice for his first game.  He sends the check to his mom and just tells her that it's for his sisters, college funds or art camp or whatever it is little girls need and want.

He keeps his words covered, turning away in the locker room, on the rare occasions he needs to take off his Under Armor t-shirts. (He finds the brand amusing, since he wears their skin tight base layers as almost literal armor.) The first half of his words are an illegible Cyrillic he doesn't even bother trying to translate, but the second half is clear enough.  Some of the guys on his team are firmly bonded.  It doesn’t matter if their words are funny, straightforward, or bizarre, it’s easy to tell the ones who are happily bonded by the way they love to flaunt their words. Kerry has “ _Show me what you can do off the ice_ ,” along his left thigh, while “ _Is this your zucchini_?” brands Swoops’ ankle.  

Kent doesn't want his words.  He was happier before he had them.

It’s a month and a half into the season, 20 games played, 13 won, when they have their first roadie back east. His mom, step mom and sisters drive down for the Islanders game, and he gets them seats against the glass so he can hear them yell his name and see the tiny matching Parson jerseys Maya and Kate are wearing.

The team and his coaches are delighted with the way he’s playing. He tries not to read too much into the surprise he can hear overlaying their comments, after all it’s not their fault that their first pick fell through and they’re stuck with scrappy Kent Parson.  He tries to avoid the headlines, about whether he will live up to the hype attached to going to first in the draft, and the endless speculation comparing his game with Jack’s. “Keep this up, you’ll be at the All Star game for sure!” his Coach comments after he makes his first hat trick, and he doesn’t know how to explain them that it doesn’t matter.  He doesn’t care about being popular, the Calder, the Cup any of it. Hockey is all he has, the only thing he’s wanted that he actually got to keep.

From Brooklyn they move onto to Providence. The Aces and the Falconers are both expansion teams with a lot to prove, and he and Russian defenseman Alexei Mashkov had been two of the highest draft picks, so he knows going into it that the game will be tough.

The game is tied late in the third, but Kent sees the goal light up, right before he follows the puck into the net, sliding fast enough to take out the Falconer’s goalie in the process. He panics for a moment, you don’t mess with a team’s goalie, it’s one of the cardinal rules of hockey, but then he’s being hauled up off the ice in a collision of adrenaline and Russian and “ _\---you like hitting so much? I can hit too!_ ”  He looks up and meets Maskov’s eyes. Kent is probably the smallest guy on the ice, Alexei easily having 6 inches on him, and Kent’s well honed instincts are screaming at him to get away before he gets hit, instincts honed through years of living with his father, before he recognizes the words being shouted at him.  He feels like he’s falling but when he hits the ice again he realizes it’s because the giant of a man has let go of his jersey.  He thought his years of hockey had whittled down this basic fight or flight response, but apparently not, because he’s trembling hard enough he’s sure it shows as he manages to get back up on his skates.

 _Fuck, I-...I didn’t even say anything back!_ he thinks.

He feels like his entire body is flushed with heat, but he makes it back to his bench and the next thing he knows he’s puking up water and the assistant coach is hauling him to the locker room to go through concussion protocol.

“I’m fine...” he chokes out.

“Like hell you’re fine, you’re shaking like a leaf,” his trainer retorts before shining a too bright light in his eyes.

“No, really, it wasn’t the hit, I just....” _Just what,_ he thinks, _I just met the soulmate I didn’t even know I had until a few months ago?   A man who is 6 inches taller than me, built like a tank, and whose words across my torso are about how much he wants to hit me?_

“Kent, just sit still and let me do my job, trust me everyone wants to get you back on the ice but we have this protocol for a reason, ok?” the trainer replies, and Kent nods shakily.

 _Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t say anything back,_ he thinks, _I mean the only thing I have going for me is that I’m good at hockey, other than that I’m pretty much the world’s biggest fuck up.  And it’s not like he would even give me a second glance if we weren’t tied together in some kind of cosmic joke._

“Snowden _,_ he ok?” he remembers to ask about the goalie he practically landed on, and the trainer just nods “Yeah, he didn’t leave the ice so I’m assuming he’s fine.” Ok well, there’s that at least.

By the time he’s cleared to get back on the ice, he’s determined that it’s for the best for everyone if he just keeps his mouth shut. What Maskov doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and considering the last person Kent gave his heart to almost- _overdosed_ , it hardly seems likely that a second chance, however karmically ordained, would be a good idea for anyone.  

“Hey rookie, you ready to go?” Gibson asks him when he gets back to the bench.  Since he’s been in the locker room the Falcs have taken the lead by one.

“Sure,” he replies “Let’s win this thing.”


	2. Chapter 2

Kent gets his soulmark late, late enough that he assumes he’s going to stay unmarked.

When almost a quarter of the population never manifest their words, Kent never felt like it was something he needed to be ashamed about.  Plus his parents were a stellar example of how soulmarks don’t alway mean happiness, or even anything passing as a functional relationship. He had no idea why the universe paired his parents, his father was possessive, jealous and quick of temper while his mother was eternally patient, sweet and kind. Unfortunately, while he inherited most of his looks from his mother, he can’t help but worry that his temperament is skewed towards the Parson side of the family.

Ben Parson was an abusive asshole, and his mother was much better off with her new wife and their babies, who in his opinion, were set up to have a much happier childhood than his own.  

When he met Jack, he felt like their mutual unmarked status was as binding as any soul words could ever be. Because if he could love someone with this much intensity, a feeling that was such an amalgamation of lightheartedness and disquiet, that the thought of their being something more out there for soulmates was unfathomable. Playing hockey together was joyful, passing the puck between them and dancing around the opposing team with such effortlessness it felt like they only needed a line of two instead of five.  And after games, their lives together seemed like an extension of one long game where the two of them together were always on the winning team. Late at night, their whispered confessions in shared hotel rooms, pressing their bodies together sweetly, at 18 and steps away from graduation into the NHL, he could never have imagined a future that wasn’t the two of them, on the ice together. God he’d been such a naive idiot.  

The day Kent gets his words he doesn’t notice for hours. But he does notice Jack’s. Jack’s arm is bare, the IV tape partially obscuring the words curling around his wrist. He feels like his mind is stuck and then keeps resetting hard.  He keeps seeing _Sweetheart_ curling up Jack’s arm in a handwriting he’s never seen before. He wants Jack to wake up because they’re going to miss the draft, he can’t get his mind wrapped around the idea that it’s not going to happen, he just keeps thinking _if he wakes up now, there’s still time_ , and _we can fix this, and we can go back to it being the two of us, we can go back.._.

Bob and Alicia are sitting on the other side of the bed, grimly holding hands.  He’s always thought it was sweet, how Bob’s words descend down his forearm, while Alicia’s travel up from her wrist, so posed together like that it’s like one continuous conversation.

“I just don’t understand it,” Bob mutters. “He’s an athlete, he wouldn’t mess up his game like this. Where did he even get drugs from!”

“They were mine,” Kent chokes out. He’s squeezing the brim of his hat so hard it’s nearly folded in half. “He got them from me.”

“You....you gave my son drugs? He almost died!” Bob’s on his feet now, towering over Kent. “You were supposed to look out for him!”

“I know, I’m sorry-” he manages to choke out.

“Get out,” he snarls, and Kent is out of his seat in a flash, and out of the room in two steps.

“Don’t come back!” he shouts, and Kent hears Alicia cry out “Robert!” but he’s already half way down the hall, stumbling into a bathroom barely in time to throw up in the basin. _Bob’s right_ , he thinks, the truth of it sinking into his veins as he collapses onto the bathroom tile. _My fault. Maybe this is why his words came in now, because Jack needs someone better._ He tries  desperately to control his breathing. His mind flashes back to Jack, unmoving with an empty pill bottle next to him.

 _If I hadn’t give him my pills..._ He hadn’t seen any problem with sharing his anxiety medication, he and Jack were both in a grind to make it to the NHL draft, plus he knew Jack felt extra pressure every time he was held up and compared to the legacy Bad Bob. It was enough to give anyone anxiety. He’d had the prescription for years, meant to help with panic attacks he’d developed after his parent’s abrupt divorce, but he hadn’t kept up with the therapy meant to accompany it.  He had no idea you could even overdose on it.  Kent feels completely blindsided, he had no idea that Jack would _try to-_  

It feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

Kent had thought they were happy, that they were on their way to something amazing, but  apparently Jack had felt so badly that he’d taken the entire bottle, and Kent hadn’t even _noticed_. He could have _died_.  

Eventually, Kent pulls himself off the floor, pressing his hands to his eyes to try and stop their tremors.   He checks his phone automatically, he’s not expecting anyone to look for him at the hospital, but he has 14 missed calls, 6 voicemails, and dozens of text messages. His mom, his coach, his teammates, a few from numbers he doesn’t recognize.  But he zeros in on a single voicemail from from Jack, timestamped from the evening before. Kent’s fingers tremble as he hits play. There’s nothing, just silence stretching out into nearly a minute, and Kent thinks maybe he’s being dramatic over a misdial when he hears Jack gasp out “...I’m sorry, Kenny,” and the call cuts off. Kent stares at his phone mutely.

He doesn’t remember getting back home. His suit is laid out on the bed where he’d left it laying next to Jack’s. Someone must have come by to collect Jack’s things. He showers mechanically, and out of his peripheral vision he sees them, scrawled across his sternum, right above his heart.  He stumbles out of the shower and stands in front of the mirror, dripping on the cold tile.

He bursts out laughing, so hard he can’t even stand, sinking down against the wall and burying his face in his knees.  What a pair they turned out the be, him and Jack.  Both unmarked for so long, and then somehow imprinted within hours of each other.  What kind of relationship does that leave them with.

He supposes it doesn’t matter now.  Jack has a soulmate for him out there somewhere, some person who calls him _sweetheart_ right off the bat, and is undoubtedly a better fit than Kent ever was.  And all Kent has is some angry words in Russian and a threat.

He wants to talk to Jack. He wants Jack to be ok. He’s not sure those two things are compatible anymore.  “ _Don’t come back_ ” is still echoing in his ears.  

He gets dressed slowly, he can’t remember if he shampooed his hair so he just throws a snapback on the wet strands and he dons his suit like armor over his heart.  Jack is going to an assessment with a psychiatrist, and Kent is going wherever the hell that the NHL decides to send him.


	3. Chapter 3

Kent thinks he’s a fundamentally unlucky person, but he knows enough to be thankful that he found the passion of his life at 6 years old on a rundown, poorly zambonied rink in upstate New York. Skating is like breathing - not a skill he learned so much as something he feels like he came out of the womb understanding, and everything else was just a matter of practice.

He plays well with the Aces, and while they aren’t the best team in the league their odds are good for cinching a playoff spot. So what if he occasionally overhears people carping about the Aces getting their second choice next to the heir of a Canadian hockey legend.  Kent is what Vegas got and he’s going to make the best of it.  He likes to think he’s more than proving himself as time goes by and he’s leading the team in points, an especially remarkable feat for a rookie.

He sees Mashkov twice more that season, but their ice time together is thankfully brief enough that he doesn't even get close enough to the man to make eye contact, and there's no reason to speak.

He keeps his focus narrowed to the ice. After games he shows his teeth to the press and keeps his hat pulled low to hide his eyes, trying to deflect questions about Zims as much as he can. When Gibson sees him flounder he helps steer the conversation back to their current matchups.  

When he’s called into a meeting with his general manager after practice, he figures it must be for another PR thing so he’s not too worried. But then he freezes when he sees Sean there with his captain and his coach, and Sean leads with “We’d like for you to be happy here, Kent.”  

_What?_

Kent can’t honestly remember anyone ever expressing a desire to see to his happiness, and he especially doesn’t expect it from the Aces organization.  Kent has no illusion about his true value to the team, every goal he scores is an investment in future Kent Parson jersey sales, not to mention the bobble heads and other assorted merchandise opportunities.  They want him to win, and sell tickets, and do whatever PR asks him to do to build up his ‘brand.’  He tries not to let it bother him all that much, considering he gets to play world class hockey and is earning more in his first year than his mom made in the last 10.  He figures they give him more than enough to keep him ‘happy.’

“Listen,” Sean continues. “To be frank, you’re the best player this team has ever had, and while I acknowledge this might sound weird coming from your GM, but there’s more to life than hockey. We’re worried about you. You’re young, and you don’t really socialize much with the other guys, you show up to all of the optional skate time, and you spend more time with the trainers and in the gym than anyone else.”  Kent’s not sure how making himself a better skater is cause for what is sounding more and more like an intervention, so he just sits and stares.

“I know your family is on the other side of the country,” Gibson asks.  “But do you have a soulmate, girlfriend, anything?”  Mashkov’s face flashes through his mind, smiling big and happy from the Falconer’s latest promo, but he forces the image to the back of his mind and says  “Ah, no, there’s no one.”    
  
“It’s not healthy Parson,” Coach Williams adds, rather unhelpfully Kent thinks, “We want you to be satisfied here in Vegas but if all you have is hockey you’re going to burn out fast.” 

“So, to start,” Gibson interjects, “I was wondering if you’d like to move in with me. I have an extra bedroom.”

“I don’t need a babysitter-” Kent starts but Gibson quickly cuts him off  “Listen man, I don’t want you to think this is some kind of chaperoning or anything, it’s just, I was in the expansion draft the Aces’ first year, I know what’s it’s like to move far from home, and it’s just nice to have company, you know?”  

Kent stares at him somewhat blankly. Captain J.T. Gibson, the one who would let him skate as much as he wanted over the summer, and made sure he was never there alone, even if he wanted to spend hours doing drills. He likes Gibson, the man is a good captain, he’s the kind of person who soaks up personal details like a sponge, and will always ask about people’s soulmates, their families, and the minutia of their lives. And he’s a top notch skater, so Kent can see why he was chosen as Captain.  He’s not surprised that he’s the sort of person who would open up his home to a lonely rookie. And he could see how his current mostly empty one bedroom apartment is hardly conducive to mental health and happiness.    

Sean chimes in “And we’d we’d like for you to talk to a sports psychologist. Obviously, we’re not going to force you, and it would be confidential, but we want you know that we value your mental health as much as the rest of it. And while I can't give you any names, you wouldn't be the only one getting this kind of support.”

Kent’s instinct is to lash out defensively, but he’s self aware enough to know that they’re right, as sad as it may be, his life is pared down to just hockey.  He talks to his mom a few times a week, and Skypes with his little sisters every Sunday morning, but other than that he goes to games and practice and he works out and he chokes down protein shakes because he can’t be bothered to cook anything, and he calls Zims even though the man never picks up, and he sleeps at night only because he exhausts himself so thoroughly that he collapses and doesn’t move for 8 hours. Rinse, repeat. He’s happy on the ice, he thinks, though he’s not sure that's what he's feeling except that it’s the only part of his day he feels much of anything at all.

The men in Sean’s office are all looking at him expectantly. Kent remembers an interview he saw on ESPN, with one of the many broadcasters trying to milk the story of what might have been for all it’s worth, but this one had managed to nab a few minutes with Bob Zimmermann. If they can’t get a sound bite out of Jack or Kent, he supposes Bob is the next best target.  When asked about his son and rookie extraordinaire Kent Parson, he’d said “Kent is young, and no one doubts that he’s a talented skater, but sometimes that’s not enough.” And it’s not exactly like Kent was expecting praise from the Zimmermanns after everything that happened, but he couldn't help his flinch.  “I was worried about him going to Vegas of all places, but so far it seems the Aces are a good fit for him.” _Where he’s 2,500 miles away from my son,_ remains unsaid. If he can’t go back, to the people he thought were like family, he might as well try to find a place for himself out here.

“I uh, I don’t think I’m ok actually.”  Kent manages finally. It's one of the most honest things he's ever said. “You really want me to move in with you?” He asks Gibson. His Captain claps a hand on his shoulder. “Absolutely, Parser, we’re here to help.”

* * *

They move his things the following weekend, considering he hasn’t bought much beyond what he brought with him to Vegas, it doesn’t take long.  

And he makes an appointment with petite therapist named Dr. Ramone, they set up weekly meetings depending on his hockey schedule, and phone sessions if he’s traveling. He was never impressed with therapy as a surly teenager, and doesn’t think much will come of it, but it’s actually kind of nice talking to someone who doesn’t give a shit about hockey. He can vent and complain in ways he would never allow himself to otherwise, he know he can be a bastard and he spends a lot of energy trying not to drag anyone else down. But his psychiatrist seems to think some of the things he whines about are actual real problems.  She doesn't think he's an unredeemable asshole either, so overall Kent thinks it’s going alright.  She talks to him about depression, and complex PTSD, and something called imposter syndrome, and she laments his previous therapist who continued to give a teenager prescription medication unmonitored.   

She’s asks him if he has a soulmate, and in an unguarded moment he tells her about meeting Maskov, about being lifted off of the ice and his words shouted in his face.  Dr. Ramone is quiet for a long time after that. She waits patiently to Kent trying to reason through why he had remained silent in that moment and since.

“I can’t make this decision for you,” she says finally. ”But I don’t want you to write him off completely. Just because you aren’t ready to explore this with him doesn’t mean you won’t be one day. And maybe he’s not ready right now either. It’s a cliche, but the world does work in mysterious ways,  and the soulmate phenomenon is one of our greatest mysteries.”

“What happened with Jack, and your parents, is unique, as every relationship between two people is unique. It would be a mistake to see them as a precedent for how your future relationships may go, whether with your soulmate or not.”

It takes him awhile to recognize that what he is feeling as hopeful.

* * *

He has this daydream, of a Stanley cup final, where the Aces take on the Falconers, however unlikely the matchup may be, and after a decisive Aces victory (it’s his fantasy, after all) he would shake his soulmate’s hand and say “Good game, Alexei.” He thinks those would be nice words to have on your skin. But the Falconers get knocked out in the first round of the playoffs, and the Aces in the second, which is disappointing but Gibson reminds him that he's only 19 and they have a good roster and a says a bunch of other Captain-y things and Kent feels a bit better about it.

In June he sees Maskov at the NHL awards, arm wrapped around a tall brunette in a slinky black dress, and he's startled by the flash of jealousy he feels, before he crushes the feeling and spends the rest of the night obsessively making sure he's as far from the man as he can get. It doesn't seem like Maskov is suffering any from missing his soulmate, he thinks resentfully.  He knows that Zims’ parents are at the awards as well, so he spends the night awkwardly trying to avoid the people he’d once seen as family, and the man who arguably should be one of the most important people in his life.  

He’s stunned when they announce his name for the Calder. Right up until he’s ushered onto the stage he had assumed he’d sit it through another hour of speeches, have one drink at the after party, and then head home. He’d been seriously counting down the minutes until he could get out of his tux, and instead he finds himself stumbling over a speech where he tries to remember to thank his mother and his Coach and his Captain and is starting through the entire roster of the Aces when the music starts up ushering him off to the wings. Thank god no one expects hockey players to be eloquent.  He can’t see the audience past the stage lighting, which is probably a blessing, but he can’t help wondering if Bob and Alicia got to their feet when he won, or if they’d been grieving not seeing their son on the stage instead. He wonders if Alexei was upset that his name wasn’t called. He wonders if anyone noticed that he didn’t mention Jack in his speech, though he was the one he’d wanted to thank most of all.  Lord knows he wouldn’t be here without Jack, the man had shaped Kent’s teenage years and it feels like his absence from Kent’s life is just as resonant.

At the after party, the Aces are enthusiastic about keeping away the crush of people trying to get a sound bite out of Kent, but the more drinks they have the less constructive that help becomes.  Kent eventually entrusts his trophy to Jeff and makes his way across the room to get the guys some waters.  Sidling up to the bar, he accidentally makes eye contact with Maskov, of all people, who is in the middle of ordering drinks for him and his date.  It looks like he is about to speak  to Kent, but Kent ducks his head and does a quick about face heading right back to his team.  He feels shivery panic crawling up his spine, but is quickly lets himself be distracted by Swoops slurring “You ok man? If I’d just won a trophy I’d look a lot happier than that.” He reaches out to boop Kent on the nose.

“I’m fine,” he tells him, swiping his hand away from his face. “It’s just a lot of people.” _Several of whom I am unsuccessfully trying to avoid_ he doesn’t say.     

“Leave the man alone Swoops.” Gibson says. “Come on Parse, let’s get out of here and go have some real fun.” To his immense relief, Gibson drive him home instead of a bar, and by the time he’s out of his tux almost the entire Aces team is in their living room with bags of chips and bottles of beer.

“What’s all this?” Kent asks in surprise.

“You didn’t think we were going to let you get by without a proper celebration, were you? Come on, we’re going to play beer pong with champagne.”  Kent feels warm all the way through, and he doesn’t think it’s the horrible combination of cheap beer and expensive champagne.  At the start of the season he had been focused solely on skating, but these guys have been persistent in worming their way into his life. He’s met their families, kissed their babies, been invited to their backyard BBQs and bachelor parties. They’re his team, and for better or worse to Kent team has always bleed into family.

* * *

He moves out of Gibson’s house when the man meets his soulmate, a woman four inches taller named Sarah that Gibson is immediately smitten with.  Kent doesn’t mind too much, he likes living with the man but even he doesn’t want to intrude upon a newly bonded pair.

He hasn’t been a kid for years, but buying a condo still seems like a strangely ‘adult’ move to make. Gibson helps him house hunt and won’t let him pick something that’s just ‘fine.’ They finally walk into an open floorplan, with a wall of windows, and a spiral staircase that leads up to a loft with a sliding glass door that leads on top a rooftop patio. It’s small, and he could afford a lot more, but he thinks for one person, it’s lovely, and something restless in Kent settles. Gibson looks at his face when he’s done a walk through and just says “Yeah, this one’s right.”

Two weeks after moving in, and one hellish trip to Ikea with Gibson and Sarah, he finds himself with at a local animal shelter talking to a very nice volunteer about his schedule and how a dog needs a lot of attention but has he thought about getting a cat.  The minute he walks into the free roaming area a cat jumps on his shoulders and won’t remove her claws from his sweatshirt.  He can’t even twist his head far enough to see her entirely, just a flash of grey fur and white paws, so he just thinks, well, yeah, I guess this one. It’s hell to get her to let go of him and into the carrier box they give him, her pathetic mewling steadily increasing in volume the longer she is in the box, enough to set his skin prickling and anxiety thundering through his veins, and he may break several traffic laws trying to get home in time before she dies of sadness. It’s probably not likely but if anyone could do it it would be this cat.

She shuts up immediately when he opens the lid to introduce her to his living room.  She is unequivocally, fine. “Ok weirdo, so what was that over dramatic bullshit?”  Kent asks her, before inviting her to make herself at home. Of course she refuses to leave the box for hours.

She likes the rooftop deck as much as he does.  She seems to like him ok too, in that anytime he’s still for longer than 30 seconds she tries to drape herself on top of him somehow, and when he’s not still she uses her claws to scale him until she is perched with an expansive view.

He’s been working on some desert friendly landscaping, so there are some green cacti and comfy lawn chairs and a big red umbrella with white stripes that always cheers him up, and he adds a rug in a sunny patch that becomes her favorite napping spot. He’s thinking about buying a grill in the summer, maybe having the team over with their soulmates and partners.

He sends his mom pictures of Kit until she begs him to stop. Well, what she actually says is “Baby, I love you, but if you send me one more picture of your cat in a sunbeam, sleeping in a basket, or wearing a funny hat, I will find the most embarrassing baby photo I can and post it on Twitter.” He thinks she’s overreacting, but he also know how to tell when she’s making a serious threat.   He decides to make Kit an Instagram instead, he figures someone will appreciate her glory even if his mom is, as it turns out, not a cat person.

* * *

Kit builds up to a ridiculous number of followers, so it takes him awhile to notice that a TatersGonnaTate has liked almost every photo from the past six months, and when he clicks on the their account he sees photos of the Falconers’ players, and a lot of selfies of Maskov with what appears to be every dog in Providence, and in a fit of midnight melancholy he follows him back. It's not weird for NHL players to follow each other right?  At this point it would probably be weirder to not follow Mashkov back.  Maybe he's overthinking the whole thing, but he figures that talking online doesn't count, so he comments “cute dog” to a photo of of the man cradling a hysterically happy yorkie leashed to a confused looking woman in a pink hoodie.

He gets a response almost immediately, _thought you more a cat person, yes_?

_I'm a Kit person exclusively.  Otherwise dogs are great._

_Good to love dogs!!_ Mashkovadded weird emoticons of a smiling dog and a smiling cat.

It's a nice way to talk, he thinks. It's easier to show himself in a good light when he has as long as he wants to hash out a reply, it's much less likely that he'll come across as an asshole that way.  He knows he's a shitty person, and even if he never plans to talk to his soulmate, he'd like to be seen in a positive light, however distant it may be.  

At most he’ll see Alexei for three games a year, more if you count the All Star weekend, and possible playoff matchups. Both of their teams are doing well so it’s not out of the realm of possibility for them to both to make the playoffs.  Kent can manage this, everything is fine.

But the thing is, the more he learns about Alexei the more he likes him, and the more he feels like he’s floundering. He watches all of his promo video, gets alerts from his twitter and instagram, makes sure his DVR records all the Falcs’ games.  He discovers that Mashkov is featured in the Falconers' ASPCA calendar, where Mashkov is wearing plaid, sitting on a hay bale and holding a surly looking corgi dressed like a pumpkin.  It makes him smile every time he sees it hanging in his kitchen. If anyone ever wonders why his calendar is always set to October they have yet to call him out on it.

Maybe it's not healthy, this half formed attachment. Even though he’s determined it’s better to keep his distance, he can’t help masochistically filling his days with anything he can get.   Sometimes he dreams of a world where things are different, where he's a better person, where he has more than hockey to give another person, but then he remembers that dreams don't get you anywhere, don't get you anything but broken-hearted and alone. He feels like his insides twisted up when Jack overdosed and he doesn’t know how to straighten things out again. Jack’s at college now, in Massachusetts of all places, still playing hockey, and Kent only knows that much from blips he picks up on ESPN and Bob’s sporadic twitter mentions of his son.  It drives him crazy to know so little about the person he would have once considered to be his closest friend.  He can only hope Jack is happy, it seems like he’s destined not to know for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I thought TatersGonnaTate was hilarious, I take no credit, it's something I found when I googled "potato puns." Whole bunch of dad jokes under that google search.
> 
> What do you call a baby potato?
> 
> A small fry.


	4. Chapter 4

He honestly doesn't know why he thought this was a good idea. He's standing outside of a run down frat house, the baseline of some pop song thumping across the yard, and he's just seen his soulmate for the first time in months, close enough across the the ice that he could have whispered and still been heard. But instead the Aces lost in Providence 3-2, and he had watched as Mashkov was crowded into a team hug after scoring the game winning goal.  Kent had barely held it together long enough to give a consolation pep talk to his team in the locker room.

The thought of going back to his hotel room, alone, knowing his soulmate is in the same city, probably out celebrating with his team (maybe picking someone up at a bar - _no don’t go there_ ) just seemed unbearable.

So instead Kent is at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Haus, made semi-famous by the vibrant social media lives of its residents. He’s never been in person, but he has a pretty good idea what to expect.

He doesn't even knock, he figures the music is so loud that it would probably go unheeded anyway, and he zeros in on Jack almost immediately, the same way he'd always felt magnetized to the man when they were teenagers. Jack looks the same, and completely different. Broad shoulders filling out a plaid t-shirt, he looks like he’s gained a couple of inches in height in the years since Kent’s seen him last, and his hair has been fashionably trimmed from the disheveled mop Kent remembers. His smile is the same, directed as it is to a group of people enthusiastically dancing to Beyoncé.

Jack glances over when the door opens, then does a double take. “Kent!” Jack exclaims, and Kent can't tell if his expression is surprised or dismayed or just indifferent, and he seriously considers turning around back out the door but then Jack walks over to him and wraps his arms around him tightly. Kent freezes awkwardly in surprise, he didn’t have much of a plan coming here but nowhere in it featured Jack holding him securely in a hug.  

“It's good to see you,” Jack says, stepping back from the embrace, and Kent blurts out “Is it?” before he can help himself.  Jack winces, but then just says “Yes, Kenny, yes- look,” he flounders.  “Do you want a drink?” He pulls Kent towards a table full of stacked solo cups and mixers.

“Jack! I was just looking for you,” a petite blond interrupts, and Jack smiles down and wraps an arm around his side. The man brushes his fringe out of his face and looks up at Kent expectantly.  

“Kenny, this is Eric,” Jack looks like he’s bracing himself,  “My soulmate.” Jack’s arm tightens around the other man’s waist. He meets Kent’s eyes straight on and Kent feels the distance between them, years that flew by and made them strangers to each other.

Kent holds out a steady hand.

“Kent Parson, it’s nice to meet you,” he says. Eric shakes his hand and laughs, “Lord, you need no introduction trust me.”  Kent wrinkles his nose at that, what exactly has Jack told Eric about him?

“So, what brings you to Massachusetts?” Eric asks.

“Uh, you know, had a game down in Rhode Island, and thought maybe I’d swing by to see Jack.” _On the off chance that today would be the day he’d decide to speak to me._ And they’re both smiling at him, and it’s kind of weird honestly.  Eric just seems so _nice,_ and neither of them seem like they want him to leave _._  It’s not like he thought he had any sort of chance with Jack after everything that happened, but he still doesn’t expect Jack’s _soulmate_ to meet him and roll out the red carpet.

He looks at the two of them, so easy in each other’s space.  This is what he wanted, isn’t it? For Jack to be to find the person who could make him happy, since it clearly wasn’t supposed to be Kent.  For so long he’d worried that he’d broken something unfixable in Jack, but here was clear evidence that there is someone in the world capable of putting the pieces back together.

“Sorry about your game tonight!” Eric continues, “The Aces are having a pretty good year though. You cup final last year was amazing.”

“Thanks, I still can’t believe we won honestly.” He fiddles the brim of his hat, hoping he’s not blushing at the praise. He goes for changing the subject “Congrats on your season! You guys are heading to the Frozen Four, right?” Eric looks taken aback to learn that he’s been following their team.

“Yeah! The boys are so excited.” Eric turns to Jack and says, “We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without our dear Captain, of course.” And Jack _blushes_ and leans into Bitty effortlessly.

“Yeah, Jack was the best Captain I ever had.” Kent replies with a small smile.  “ _Kenny.”_ Jack demurs.  “No really,” Kent continues. “Anytime I second guess whether I’m being a good Captain to the Aces I just ask myself what Jack would do.”

“Well aren’t you the sweetest. And I’d have to agree with you, Jack really is something.” Eric says, beaming up at his boyfriend. “I’m going to let you two catch up, holler if you want some pie, alright?” And with a happy wave Eric leaves to start a game of flip cup with a small Asian girl and a tall man with a mustache.

“Here,” Jack says, grabbing him a beer from a cooler. “Let’s go upstairs.”

* * *

 They find a spot outside on the roof, it’s brisk, but not too uncomfortable after Jack wraps his comforter half over both of them. He’s close enough that Kent can feel his body heat. He fights not to lean in too obviously.

Kent is surprised at how normal it is, talking to Jack like they’re friends. He asks him what he’s going to do after graduation, and is not surprised to hear that he’s thinking about signing with the Falconers. They are the nearest NHL team, and Eric still has two years left of college, so it makes sense he wants to stay nearby. They’re a decent team, but with the addition of a player like Jack they could shape up to something amazing, Kent thinks wistfully.  He quells the jealousy that comes of thinking of Jack and Alexei playing together.  They talk about Kent’s mom’s new family, how he’s head over heels for his little step sisters, and he’s quick to show off videos of them after he sent the world’s tiniest ice skates, wobbling their first day on the ice. They talk about Vegas, and his team, and what it’s like living in the desert. “You guys look like you’re having fun out there, at least from your PR videos.” Jack says, and yeah, he’s not wrong, Kent’s always been good at turning it on for the cameras.  He musters up his courage and asks Jack how his parents are.

“They’re good.” He says, taking a sip of his beer.  “They ask after you.”  Kent figures Jack is just being polite.  You don’t give second chances to people who almost kill your son.

After a while Eric brings them two slices of pie that is probably the best dessert Kent has ever eaten, before he retreats back inside complaining of the cold. “He really makes this?” Kent asks, and Jack just laughs.

“You’re really lucky, you know? Eric is perfect for you.” Kent says.

“Yeah, I know I am.” Jack says with a fond smile.  “You know the first thing he ever said to me? I had just told him off for bringing pie to our first hockey practice. But he just turned to me beaming and said ‘ _Sweetheart, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried my pie._ ’ It would have been pretty hard not to recognize him right away.” Kent fights a flare of jealousy at how sweet Jack’s word are, he wonders how different things would be if he’d had something like that written across his skin.  

Jack puts his plate down, then says “Kenny, do you remember when we were teenagers -”  
  
“It’s not like it would be easy to forget, Jack.”

“ _Listen_ , I know we were just kids, but I meant what I said, when we talked about how we didn’t need words to love each other.  I still believe that. And I know there’s someone out there for you even if you don’t have a soulmark-”

“I do have one.” Kent blurts out, wanting more than anything to stop this heartfelt pep talk.  Jack’s attempt at counsel is a shade too close to pity for Kent to take any comfort in it.

“What?” Jack exclaims. “Kent, that’s great! When did your mark show up?”

“I’m not sure.” He takes another sip of his beer. “I noticed right before I was drafted,” he continues, leaving unsaid why he may have been too distracted to notice something as momentous as his soulmark imprinting.

“Have you met them?” Jack asks earnestly.

“Well - I, it’s complicated.” Kent stammers. His feelings towards Mashkov are a tangled mess, and he never pictured having to explain his motives towards Jack of all people.

“What exactly does ‘it’s complicated’ mean?’” Jack asks worriedly, his eyebrows are pinched in concern.

“My words - they’re not like yours. You know, they’re not...sweet.” Kent looks away. He can’t look at Jack while talking about this. “And when I heard them I panicked, the timing was awful anyway, and I said...well I didn’t say anything.” He fidgets with his nearly empty beer bottle. Jack doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Kenny, you deserve to be happy,” Jack finally says, so sincerely Kent can’t look at him. Jack wraps an arm around his shoulders and hugs him close.

“Listen, I owe you an apology.”

“What? Jack no, _I’m_ sorry. You don’t have anything to apologize for-”  
  
“No, really I do, I’m sorry, I should never have shut you out like that. I was messed up, I hurt you and I thought it would be better to stay away from you. I don’t think I realized how much I missed you until you walked through the door tonight.”

“I missed you too. But everything that happened was my fault, and then when you never returned my calls I figured you must’ve thought so too.”

“What happened was _not_ your fault.”  
  
“I gave you those pills-”  
  
“And I was the one who made the choice to take more than I should’ve. None of that was on you. Crisse, Kenny we were teenagers. Tell me you haven’t been blaming yourself all this time.”

“I-” He can’t deny it. “Well, my therapist agrees with you actually.”

“Sounds like a smart therapist. You should listen to them.”

Kent stares out across the yard, the darkness around them a harbor shielding them from the rest of the party. “You know, it didn’t even matter that much that we weren’t each other’s soulmates, it just hurt not to have you in my life at all.”

“I know Kenny,” Jack says. “I promise things will be different from now on.”

Somehow, Kent believes him.


	5. Chapter 5

Kent flies back to Nevada, and he tests the waters by sending Jack a text to let him know that his flight landed safely. _Glad to hear it_ he gets in response. He follows up with a photo of Kit sitting in his suitcase when he’s trying to unpack. He gets a response to that one too.

_Bits wants me to tell you that he loves your cat. She is pretty cute._

_Of course she’s cute, she’s the best._

From then on he likes all of Jack’s artsy Instagram photos, and Jack returns the favor by cooing over pictures of Kit.  It’s tentative at first, but slowly grows into something more. It’s a different sort of rapport than what they had before, but Kent is starting to think it’s better this way. He’d missed Jack chirping him about hockey, and if anything the time and distance has only improved Jack’s chirping game. They text back and forth almost every day, teasing when the Aces play well, consoling when they don’t.  Jack subtly tries to bring up his soulmate, but Kent deflects every time. He thinks it’s driving Eric crazy not to know, but things have been so _good_ lately that he doesn’t want to risk anything that might mess it up.

Kent had been thrilled to welcome his godson into the world, tiny baby Lucas arriving squalling at 4am into the welcoming arms of Gibson and Sarah. While he'd been surprised to be asked to step up as godfather, he was positivity shocked when Gibson told him that he'd pushed for Kent to take over as captain.

"It wasn't hard to convince the team, Kent. You've already been doing most of my job since the baby was born. You're doing great at it, I promise." He supposes he can't begrudge the man wanting to spend more time with his newborn, the little thing gives Kit a run for her money in the cutest thing in the room competition.

Taking over the Captaincy from Gibson was hard, but the man hadn't been wrong about the team already seeing him as their leader. He likes to think he helps all of them pull together on the ice, and when he feels uncertain he falls back on asking Gibson, and now Jack, for advice. They’d lost some good guys to trades the previous season, but they have a fairly well balanced roster, and the management team is talking about bringing in some new defensemen which their third and fourth lines desperately need. Kent feels like he’s playing some of the best hockey of his life. Maybe his therapist is right about a positive outlook having an affect on his game

Kent finally feels-if not happy, then at least ok most of the time. He has his name on the Stanley Cup, he loves his team, he's lucked into the world’s best cat, and he and Jack are talking again, and while he doesn't think he'll be invited home to the Zimmermann family dinner table anytime soon, he’ll take what he can get.  He's worked hard with his therapist to manage his negative tendencies, and he goes to sleep listing the things that have made him happy over the course of the day. (The list usually starts with Kit, includes any texts or tweets from Jack or Bitty, messages from his mom, and anything goofy the team gets up to.)

It’s nice knowing that Jack and Eric and are watching him play two time zones away. Kent manages to see them both twice more that season, getting them tickets when the Aces are playing close enough to Samwell. They Skype every once in awhile when their schedules overlap with free time. Bitty overnights him pies.

He sends Jack a graduation present and then congratulations on officially signing with the Falconers, and Jack sends him a birthday gift of a monthly subscription to something called Cat Lady Box and a note saying _Bits thought this was hilarious, hope you like it_. He does like it, he likes it so much he’s kind of embarrassed.  Kent doubts he'll ever live down the day he accidentally wore his " _Just another day in purradise_ " t-shirt to practice, but he knows the guys are good natured in their teasing. 

He feels like he has his best friend back, or more accurately he wonders if he finally has the friendship with Jack they were always supposed to have, before he muddled everything up by insinuating romantic feelings where they shouldn’t be.  The first time he and Jack face off against each other on NHL ice is as exhilarating as he'd always dreamed it would be, with both of them resuming equal footing after years apart.

For the first time in a long while, Kent feels things are genuinely going to be ok.

Until Maskov is traded to the Aces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos, they brighten my day! Also, Cat Lady Box is a real thing. "It's a Cat Lady's Dream Come True!"


	6. Chapter 6

The odds of him getting by with never speaking to their new defenseman are zero to none.  

He thinks about calling his therapist, but he ends up texting Jack instead.

_We picked up Mashkov_

With the time change he's not expecting an immediate response, but to his surprise he gets a selfie of Jack and Alexei, shoulder to shoulder and making exaggerated sad faces. It’s bizarre seeing the man he used to love being so affectionate with his soulmate.

Jack quickly adds _Bits is making him farewell dinner. I think he's going to miss Eric’s pies more than he's going to miss the rest of our team._

_He says hi._

_Tater I mean._

_Alexei. We call him Tater._

_And Eric says hi too_.

Kent is typing and erasing characters, trying to figure out what to say, when Jack continues with -

 _Listen, you don't need to worry about Tater, I know he's intimidating on the ice but he's like a teddy bear off._ And just like that Jack cuts to the heart of Kent’s worries.

_Thanks Jack. That actually really helps._

_Anytime Kenny :)_

_Any chance of your boy sending a pie my way?_

_I'll see what I can do ;)_

Mashkov is scheduled to be on an early flight, arriving in time for their afternoon practice the following day.  Which gives him about 15 hours to figure out what he's going to do. He figures he can say something generic like ”Hello,” which would effectively narrow Mashkov’s soulmate pool to just about every English speaking person he’s ever met. And then Kent would have to commit to never fulfilling his bond with the man and living his entire life alone.

_How’s that for positive outlook, Dr. Ramone._

He's walking down the hall to the locker room, trying to compose a text to Jack that says _Help Me_ without revealing his level of panic, when he runs into what seems to be a solid wall, landing hard on his rear.  He’s followed to the ground by a loud thud, as a box narrowly misses his foot. He recognizes it, it’s a handmade wooden crate, perfectly sized to hold a single, perfectly baked pie, with the words PieBox torched into the wood. It’s the same as every express delivery he’s ever received from Eric.

“Where did you get that pie?” He asks in confusion, turning to look up into the face of Alexei Maskov, gym bag slung over one large shoulder, stunned expression on his face. Kent feels time stop for a long moment as Maskov freezes, posed in a half crouch reaching to help Kent back to his feet.  Slowly Alexei’s expression blooms into the sunniest smile until he is just beaming at Kent. _I'm in so much trouble_ Kent thinks.

“And I am very lucky, soulmate is very handsome, and best player in the league!”  Any chance that Maskov didn’t connect Kent’s words to his imprint has clearly gone out the window.  Maskov wraps his hand around Kent’s wrist, gently pulling him to his feet.

“Good first words, yes?”  Mashkov is still holding his arm.

 _So we're doing this, this is happening,_ Kent thinks, remembering how Dr. Ramone talked about how he can choose to spin things in a positive way, and how there will always be many things he won't be able to change but he can adapt his outlook to accept them, and he thinks _fuck it, I'm doing this_. And he smiles back. He smiles back at the man he’s only allowed himself to think about in the most distant terms.

He remembers years ago, being picked up bodily off of the ice, this man man screaming in his face.  How afraid he was then, an 18 year old thrust into an uncertain world with no time to find solid ground. And he thinks about how much has changed since then. He thinks maybe he's ready.

And really, what does he have to lose?

“Mashkov, welcome to Vegas.” Kent says. “I thought you were getting in tomorrow?”

“I talked to Coach about wanting extra practice with new team, so they bumped me to red eye flight last night.”

“I uh...” God he might be blushing, his face feels hot. “We should probably go practice?”

“Da, Captain, and after, we get coffee, yes? Much I would like to tell you. Is not just hockey we have in common. And I have pie for you, from Jack’s baker.” He bends down to scoop up his pie crate.

“I can’t believe Eric actually sent me a pie! That’s awesome!”

“Yes, but is a surprise, would not tell me what kind so we will find out together.”

* * *

Later after a practice where Maskov fits in with the team like it’s his hundredth Aces practice not his first, Kent offers to give him a ride. He turns his phone back on to one missed call and several text notifications from Jack, which is unusual enough that he reads them immediately.

_Kent. Tater just texted me to tell me he met his soulmate._

_All this time, Mashkov really had no idea?_

_Call me I want to make sure you’re ok._

_And congratulations._

And one from Eric telling him that _Tater is so excited!!!_ followed by a string of happy emoticons ending with a champagne bottle and fireworks.    _I’m going to send y’all so many celebration pies._

Mashkov folds himself into Kent’s tiny sports car, and then slides his hand to rest on Kent’s knee, making Kent jump. “Sorry, is not ok?” Kent shivers a little but just says “No, it’s fine.”

“Maskov -”

“Alexei, please. Or Alyosha, if you like.”

“Alyosha.” It’s nice. He likes the way the words feel in his mouth. “Listen, I - “ He should probably come clean, tell Alex- _Alyosha_ that’s he’s messed up in the head and thought he should be alone so he hid from him and now that he’s sitting in a too small car with only inches between them he’s struggling to remember what had been holding him back.  Because this is so different from being on the ice together, there is a gentle hand resting on his leg, and the man has not stopped smiling once since he pulled him up from the floor of the Aces practice rink. But what is he going to say, “I’ve known you were my soulmate for years but I was terrified of you, and thought I was too much of a fuck up to deserve being with anyone?” That doesn’t sound like a very good way to start things off.  Instead he just stares at the man with his mouth hanging open.

Alexei takes pity on him and says “There is no reason to worry, kotik. We will figure out together. But first, dinner maybe? I am still on east coast time and after long practice we are hungry?”

“Yes, food, I can get us food! Oh man, we should hit up a buffet. You have not truly experienced Vegas until you’ve been to the buffet at the Bellagio.” He puts the car in drive and pulls out of the rink parking. He may be rambling a bit, pointing out the sites that are so bright and gaudy that he hardly needs to mention them, but it helps to have a plan, and a destination, and Alexei still hasn’t taken his hand off of his knee, so all in all he doesn’t think the man minds Kent’s stream of consciousness version of playing tour guide.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I find out I don't really know how to write a Russian speaking English as a second language.  
> \\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. Chapter 7

They win their first game together, and their second. And in between they’ve found a rhythm that’s similar to dating, or so Kent surmises since he’s never actually dated anyone before. He’s spent so long trying not to think about what it would be like to be with his soulmate, that he’s unprepared with how easy it is. They chirp each other endlessly on the ice, Alexei fitting in with the team like he’s been there for months instead of days. And off the ice they spend almost all their time together. Kent helps him find an apartment near the arena, and conveniently close enough to walk to Kent’s place. They work out together, and drive to skating practice, and get smoothies, and putter around Vegas doing all the touristy stuff Kent thought he had outgrown years ago. Alexei likes to take him out to dinner, where they dress up in suits and the tables are cloth covered and lit by candles. They order dessert with two spoons, though Alexei is adamant about getting anything other than pie.

  
“You know how much pie I have ordered? Many, always hoping would be the time you would appear. But now, I will have cake.”

  
It is some romance movie shit Kent has never experienced, and he never dreamed he would be with someone who thought he deserved place settings with multiple forks. But it’s nice, he loves it really. And afterward Alexei is happy to kiss him at his door like a gentleman. He supposes he’d expected more...eagerness? from the larger man, but Jack wasn’t wrong when he described him as being like a teddy bear. They’ve made out a few times on Kent’s sofa, but haven’t gone any further than that. He's not sure if Alexei can pick up on Kent’s hesitation or not, but he seems content to spoon and watch Netflix, and considering that Kent is terrified of taking his shirt off in front of the other man, he’s totally fine taking things slow.

  
“I had a feeling, a good feeling, when I met Jack and his baker. So many pies! Nearly every practice Zimmboni bringing some sort of sweet. So I think, it must happen soon, yes?” Alexei says to him one night, as they are curled around each other, fully clothed on top of the bed covers, Alexei has one arm wrapped around his back and the other hand pressed along his chest where his imprint lies. Kit is purring like mad in the bend of Alexei’s knees.

  
He feels a stab of guilt at the thought of his soulmate looking for him, waiting so long when Kent could have said anything at any time. He feels like apologizing, but instead he says, “It's funny, both you and Zimms have soulmarks about pie. What are the odds really.”

  
Alexei hums and then says, “Not so surprising, both you and Bitty are very sweet.” Kent laughs, and tilts his head back for a kiss. He likes Alexei’s big hands, how they fit around his hips, the long fingers gently folded along his lower back, thumbs nestled in his hipbones. He likes that he has to get up on tiptoes to kiss Alexei without the other man leaning over. Alexei blanketed against his body makes him feel safe.

* * *

  
It’s a stupid play, he’s not even checked that hard by the other team, it’s just a combination of speed and bad timing that sends him sliding hard into the boards, unable to get up as all of the air is forced out of his lungs. He can hear more than see Alexei whaling on the guy who checked him, loud Russian cursing and the sounds of Swoops trying to calm him down, but Kent’s concentrating more on getting his hands under him so he can try to push himself up. He manages it, and Jeff is in there in a flash giving him a shoulder to lean on as he slides over to the bench. There’s a sharp pain in his side if he inhales too deeply, not a symptom he’s comfortable skating through without getting checked out. “Your boy is in the sin bin,” Jeff says, “Two minutes for fighting. Everyone should know by now it’s not a good idea to touch you.” Jeff helps him back to the bench. “You ok, Cap?”

  
“Yeah,” Kent wheezes. “I can’t tell if it’s just getting the air knocked out of me, or something else. Can you tell Alexei I’m back in with the doc?”

  
“Sure thing Cap, hurry back!"

* * *

  
“Deep breath,” their team physician says, pressing firmly on Kent’s ribs. “Good, one more.” Kent inhales again, relieved that the sharp pain seems to have faded. ”You’re good to skate as long as you feel up to it. We’ll ice this after the game though so see me before going home.” The man leaves to let Kent get his pads back on. Kent is just reaching for his shirt when Alexei storms into the room, the period must have ended while he'd been checked over. “Kenny, you are alright?” Alexei is obviously relieved to see Kent sitting up and in good spirits.

  
Kent brightens instantly upon seeing his soulmate, before he recoiling, and he tries to wrap an arm around his torso. But it’s too late. Alexei sees the Russian characters along Kent’s chest and visibly sways. Kent can almost see him thinking “No the words are wrong,” but then it’s clear he remembers, or remembers enough that the confusion is giving way to something else.

  
“Alexei-” Kent starts uncertainly, but Alexei cuts him off, “How long.”

  
Kent’s face falls. He doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t know what Alexei is talking about. He visibly braces himself, then says “It was in our rookie year.” Alexei rocks forward, reaching for Kent, and Kent flinches hard. Alexei backs away a step, jaw clenched. Kent doesn’t know what to say, but he’s saved by their assistant coach yelling around the locker room that they have five minutes to get back to the bench, and the crew is scrambling to get Kent back into his pads.

  
How much does Alexei remember, years ago, in a game thousands of miles away. Does he remember being so angry he’d lifted Kent so his feet left the ice completely? “---you like hitting so much? I can hit too!”

  
Alexei stops him just before the tunnel. “After the game, we need to talk,” he says gravely, then makes his way to his seat on the bench, leaving Kenny standing forlornly in the hallway.

  
The last period goes horribly, to the point that the coach yells at him furiously to get his head together. It’s the longest twenty minutes of his life, but he wishes it would never end, anything to avoid having this conversation with Alexei.

* * *

 He beats Alexei back to his apartment, but just barely. He opens the door when the man knocks and blurts out desperately “Just, please, before you break up with me let me-” but Alexei quickly interjects “Kenny! No! I am not breaking up with you.” He takes both of Kenny’s hands in his. “But I do not understand. I want you to talk to me. Tell me why. It’s been four years, Kent.” He shuts the apartment door and leads him over to the couch where Kit is sprawled inelegantly on a throw pillow. She chirrups in greeting but doesn’t deign to move when they sit down.

  
“I was afraid-” Kent starts, and Alexei flinches, “No, no, not of you, exactly. It’s just-” He swallows hard. “You know I was with Zims, right?” Alexei nods patiently. “I was so in love with him."  Kent pauses, trying to figure out how to explain what had taken him years to untangle.

"We didn’t think it mattered that we weren’t soulmates. But then he almost died and I never even noticed that he’d been hurting. I thought what happened to him was my fault. All of it, I thought I ruined him, and it made me afraid to try again, because I thought I didn’t deserve it and I was afraid that I would ruin you, too.” Alexei squeezes his hands. “And the longer I waited - it just seemed like you were this great guy and I was terrified that you would reject me, or worse, feel obligated to be with me because of the words even if you just felt sorry for me...” Alexei can’t take anymore “No, Kenny, no, I am with you because I love you.”

  
Kent stares at him stunned.

  
“Really?” he manages, eyes damp. Alexei’s heart breaks, he wraps his arms around the smaller man and says “Yes, lubimaya, I have for some time.”

  
“Oh,” Kent says and sniffles. “Um, well, me too. I mean, I love you too.”

  
“Good.” Alexei smiles.

  
“And I’m sorry. For, lying, and for wasting so much time, and-” and Alexei kisses him quiet, pressing their lips together in a firm press more for comfort than passion. “I am sorry too,” Alexei murmurs against his skin. “That I scared you.”

  
“It's fine,” Kent responds, leaning into his side until Alexei wraps an arm around his shoulder, taking comfort in the man’s steady presence.

  
“I thought about it, so many times.” Kent says.

  
“Hmm?”

  
“What I would say to you. Every time we were on the ice together I felt the words on the tip of my tongue. I had this fantasy of our teams competing in the Stanley cup final, Aces Vs. Falconers, and we would shake hands in the lineup, and I’d say “Good game, Alexei.” Alexei snorts. “You spend all this time daydreaming, can say anything you want, and you pick “Good game?”"

  
“What! I think it would be nice to have that, very affirming.” Alexei smiles at him.

  
“Don't worry,” Alexei says “I think now we are both ready. Maybe before not as good. We are together now, and now we will be happy.”

  
“That easy, huh?”

  
“Hmm, maybe.” Kent tenses involuntarily.

  
“Would be happier with dog.” Alexei continues and Kent snorts. They're close enough he can feel the words rumble in his chest. “Am not choosy, you can pick.”

  
“We'd probably need Kit to pick actually.” And Alexei laughs.

  
Later, he snaps a selfie of the two of them on his rooftop deck, Kit perched majestically on Alexei’s shoulders. The sun is setting over the city, leaving a soft golden hue to everything it touches.

  
He attaches the photo and sends it to Jack.

  
_I think you were right about this happiness thing. :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started thinking about this idea after 3.8, what if the scene between Alexei and Kent happens during their rookie year? How would that change things? What if this was a soulmate AU, and what Alexei yells is how Kent identifies his soulmate? 
> 
> I love soulmate AUs, and I got inspiration from many others available on AO3, notably Feel You On My Skin by sinspiration, break my heart (and start again) by publictransit, and Dot Your T's and Cross Your I's by CoffeeStars. Highly recommend them.
> 
> I would hope that a world with soulmates would help to negate homophobia - as in cosmically ordained couplings would indicate a higher power being totes ok with any gender pairings. So I avoided the issue of homophobia being an obstacle in this story. 
> 
> I don't have much experience writing, but I kept thinking about this idea and as I worked through it I discovered that I really enjoyed typing it all out, so I just kept going with it. 
> 
> I do follow hockey, but I'm hardly an expert on the NHL. Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from the song "Rock Bottom" by Hailee Steinfeld, which I actually first heard on a Kent Parson themed 8Track playlist. Working title was "OMG I Have To Name This Something," so I think that's an improvement.


End file.
